


Bliss of Another Kind

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Mind Games, Out of Character, POV First Person, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex is a mindgame. Winner take all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bliss of Another Kind

Life is simpler when it lacks a code of conduct that takes effort or  
rationalization. I’ve pared away all that’s socially acceptable and  
conditioned, and what’s left is extremely simple to live by. I look  
around. I see what I must do and what I want to do. I do what I have to.  
Then I do what I want. I take what I want, and everything else is  
bullshit.

I notice him in the lobby on a very bad Saturday night. He’s too pretty  
for my usual tastes, and too smug by half. If Alex Krycek is such a bad  
motherfucker, how did he end up less an arm? I’ve been around a lot  
longer than he has, and I’m not missing anything, unless you count my  
soul. Which I don’t– it’s more of that social conditioning bullshit.

But I’m desperate. It’s all well and good to put Mulder into a padded  
cell, and it’s lovely that I’m the Big Boss’s woman, but there are times  
when being a kept woman is about as fascinating as watching paint dry.  
The old man doesn’t love me, anyway. I’m a substitute and a tool, and  
that’s about as flattering as you can imagine. I don’t even think I look  
like her, but I suppose when you’ve got the– ahem– skills that I’ve  
got, it doesn’t matter if the face is wrong. Everyone looks the same in  
the dark.

So I approach the pretty-faced, swishy-assed (and trust me, the rumors  
may or may not be true, but he *acts* queerer than a three-dollar bill–  
I swear Alex Krycek has a hard-on for Mulder every time I’ve seen them  
together) son of a bitch. He blinks.

“What the hell do you want?” he asks me, giving me an  
I’m-so-fucking-cool sneer. I grab his wrist and pull it towards my  
waist. “What the fuck? Are you crazy?”

“I’m bored,” I reply bluntly. “Make me unbored.”

His jaw drops. Men. They can say shit like “Suck me, beautiful” to a  
woman they barely known and expect to be taken seriously, but I  
reciprocate and I’m beyond the pale. Especially a smart woman, who  
apparently is supposed to be sexless. Fuck that.

“Here? Now?” Krycek stutters. I suppose, if I were in a better mood, it  
would be endearing to see big bad Krycek acting like Mulder, but it only  
heightens my annoyance.

“No, Krycek,” I say with a grin. However, it’s a grin that says don’t be  
stupid. “Room 316. Do you know how to use an elevator?”

“Yes,” he says, glaring at me. “What if I don’t want to?”

I pull him closer, so that I’m pressed up against him, groin to groin,  
breasts to chest. “What? Am I not Mulder enough for you, Alex baby?”

“Fuck you,” he replies, pulling my wrists over my head. “Maybe I’m just  
worried about disease.”

I wrench free of his grip and slap him across the face.

“You’re such a kidder, Alex,” I say, controlling my rage very admirably.  
I should tear his other arm off. Then again, after all the irritations  
I’ve suffered in my life, I ought to be good at maintaining control.

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?” he asks, staring at me. “No  
formalities, no reason, you just want to fuck and I happened to be  
handy?”

I stare at him coldly. “Did I not make that clear? If you’re not man  
enough for the job, maybe I can go find some podunk banker from that  
convention staying here. Yes. Let’s fuck already.”

His eyes light up. No matter what he says, he has heard the rumors and  
he wants his chance. Men are all the same, but at least it’s nice that  
I’ve found one who has at least as much morality as I do. It makes it so  
much easier when I get some and get gone. I pull further away from him.

“Room 316. Race you,” I say laconically. Wasting words in these  
situations is annoying, and I’ve never been one of those gushy,  
talkative women who needs to be assured and reassured of everything in  
sex. I see it as a pretty intuitive process, and if it’s not, it’s  
because someone– usually the guy– is doing something wrong.

He stares at me in disbelief, so I get a head start and don’t have to do  
anything silly, like run. I simply take the elevator to my room, let  
myself in, and take off my clothes.

Krycek takes four minutes and twenty-eight seconds to find room 316. He  
knocks like a frightened virgin. That is rather endearing, especially  
when I open my door stark naked and he drops the brown paper bag he’s  
carrying, undoubtedly containing condoms.

Cute. He and the condoms get inside, however, and I slam the door, and  
then I slam Alex up against the door.

“Fuck me,” he mutters in a low voice. I pull his face to mine, and start  
kissing the hell out of him. He’s pretty goddamn good, and the way he  
lifts me up and pushes me against the door lets me know it’s going to be  
hot. I wrap my legs around his waist, and move my lips to his ear.

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” I whisper, pulling his earlobe into  
my mouth and sucking hard. He bucks up against me, slamming my head into  
the door. The pain is arousing, and as I blink away the stars, I latch  
my arms around his neck and pull him closer, grinding against his now  
very-obvious erection.

A thought enters my head as he drags us towards the queen-sized bed in  
the middle of the room while I try to tear the shirt off him. Oh, hell,  
yes. One thing about this evil empire and its men: they’re all hung like  
stallions, and that’s ever so useful.

I’m flung onto the bed like property, and I wouldn’t admit it aloud, but  
I like the change of pace. Krycek is just like me. He lets himself get  
used because it’s going to further his purposes. And he wants this. And  
what people like us want, we take.

“Take your pants off,” I growl at him. He gives me a look that’s just on  
this side of contempt.

“No,” he says sarcastically, pulling off his cotton t-shirt and tossing  
it aside with a casual disregard. “I thought I’d fuck you wearing my  
jeans.”

“As long as I get off, whatever,” I reply. If he wants to act like an  
asshole, fine. He glowers at me, and gets his jeans off. What a shock,  
he’s not wearing any underwear. I don’t want to think about how chafed  
he must get, the little slut.

“Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” I reply, as he sits down on the mattress. “How about we stop  
talking and get down to business? I have an errand to run for the big  
boss tomorrow.”

“Fine by me,” Krycek hisses at me, moving towards me with the grace of a  
gymnast. Before I can blink twice, I’m pinned underneath him, my hands  
over my head, hips arched up against his extremely hard cock.

For a one-armed man, he’s good. Our lips are pressed together within a  
matter of seconds, making all of our needless, boring chatter  
superfluous. I rub against him, liking the feel of his muscles beneath  
his warming skin. He’s crushing me, but it’s a good ache, and I move my  
thighs further apart.

He mutters something in Russian that I think is the equivalent of My God  
or Fuck Me. Either way, it’s a good mutter, as he slides his arm up the  
length of mine, causing me to shiver and thrust up against him harder.  
My thighs clamp around his legs, feeling warm with sweat as I get  
wetter. I am really fucking hot tonight, and thinking-wise, I’m on the  
level of fuck me now, oh baby, oh baby.

“Condom,” he mutters at me, and god dammit, I have to let go long enough  
for him to go grab the brown paper bag by the door. I moan in  
frustration, my breasts my thighs my pussy my everything ready to just  
GO and not think. Thinking is bad right now. Fucking is good right now.

He fumbles with the condom under my horny, impatient glare, as my  
fingers slide around my breast and play with the hard nipple, as the  
other hand strokes the inside of my thighs, bringing my desire to a  
fever pitch as I start feeling swollen everywhere.

Finally, he finishes with his idiot fumbling and falls on top of me  
again, my thighs open as far as they’ll go, and my hips thrusting  
frantically, trying to get him inside of me, where I need him now, and  
when he finally pushes in, I howl. I don’t come– that only happens in  
bad porno flicks and the woman, trust me, is faking– but fuck, it feels  
good.

We start fucking with a good, crazy rhythm, and he’s good, god damn it,  
he’s really good, and I’m pushing back against him, trying to get the  
right because I’m wound up now, I need to come hard, dammit. I slip my  
hand between us and start rubbing my clit.

Oh yes. Oh yes. He grunts and starts thrusting harder, and I feel it all  
starting to build in the base of my spine, so I start jerking harder  
against him, gasping and whispering to God or him or whatever. Oh yes.

I’ve just breathed in when I come hard, convulsing and pushing like I’ve  
been electrocuted. Krycek just keeps shoving against me, and, well, I’ve  
always been a quick come, and get off for a second time just before he  
comes, howling in Russian and grunting.

Then he collapses on top of me, and it hurts.

“Get off me, dumbfuck,” I growl. He pulls away and stares up at the  
ceiling.

“Fuck,” he says. “That was amazing, Scully.”

I nod and stand up. “Yeah, it was great. I gotta shower. See you later.”

He stares after me as I get off the bed and close the door to my  
bathroom. Like I said, I’m not for complicated systems of ethos. I take  
what I want, and then I’m over it. I guess that’s a little too brutal  
for Krycek. Pity. And he seemed to have such potential.


End file.
